


What's in a Name

by midnightair



Category: The Bletchley Circle, The Bletchley Circle: San Francisco (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/F, Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-06-26 19:45:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15670038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnightair/pseuds/midnightair
Summary: Hearing Edward say Millie’s name, her given name rather than the shortened version she must have chosen years ago, makes Jean McBrian wonder. She goes about her day with Millie by her side, but the thought - the name - keeps nagging somewhere at the back of her mind.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to spend some more time with the characters and since I couldn't get over _Camilla_ I've put that worm into Jean's brain instead.

_Camilla Harcourt_.

 

Hearing Edward say Millie’s name, her given name rather than the shortened version she must have chosen years ago, makes Jean McBrian wonder. She goes about her day with Millie by her side, but the thought - the name - keeps nagging somewhere at the back of her mind. 

 

Jean McBrian has never given much thought to her own name. It’s sturdy and Scottish, and fits her quite well, but she’s not the type to give in to fancy, to travel the globe, to wear slacks when no other woman would have dared to. She’s never thought about life the way Millie has, going out into the world with the will and the desire to change things. Instead, she’s accepted her lot. Glad to have found meaning for herself, during the war, of course, but afterwards she’d simply accepted that things went back to the way they were before. It’s as much a question of spirit as it is of the years between them, she’d always assumed, but of course there is more to it than that.

 

Camilla Harcourt is a name that speaks of a different life than hers. An upbringing with money, with nannies and governesses who were, most likely, completely overwhelmed with the child Millie must have been. Eager and curious, with a mind so capable of learning, so willing to challenge the status quo.

 

Every once in a while, during the course of their day, Jean steals a glance at the Millie she knows and tries to imagine her as a girl, forced into white frilly dresses, with hair just as unwilling to stay in one place as she must have been. The image makes her smile, though she knows there must have been much more to it than that. Millie had never spoken of her family, the mention of her cousin Edward a rare exception. And in part Jean had not been surprised to find his house empty, to be greeted by a housekeeper instead of the cousin himself. In fact, Edward had quickly come to seem like something of a spectral presence, conjured up by Millie to make the journey to San Francisco more appealing until he had shown up, after all, to be seated across the table in flesh and blood, shutting down Millie’s appeal, leaving an unfavourable impression on Jean, along with the sound of Millie’s full name. 

 

Though the property is his, Jean finds his staunch refusal incomprehensible. She wonders what Millie makes of it - Millie who must feel crushed by his decision, but who doesn’t let it show. There are questions Jean wants to ask, about him, about the two of them, about their childhood: what happened to get them to this point, and why Millie has left her name behind, as well as her family. But even after the many years they’ve known each other and all the challenges they’ve faced together, the two of them have never talked that way, both content to keep the conversation on the cases they were working, or else without much consequence. To change this now feels too much like a transgression, and Jean isn’t certain at all of Millie’s potential reaction.

 

And yet, the more she thinks about the issue, the more she finds it odd that they both know so little about the other’s life - now more than ever. 

 

Back in London, the line was much clearer, but here on U.S. soil they share a home together. Despite the fact that Jean has always lived alone, she has grown used to Millie’s presence rather quickly, fond of the way they spend their evenings together, at home or at the bar, content with a drink in their hands. Even the click of Millie’s lighter has changed in Jean’s ears, growing familiar and comforting; despite her own insistence, returning to London is far less appealing than she’s willing to admit. 

 

The warm San Francisco air has its appeal - but it’s the company that  _ almost  _ makes her want to stay.

 

Reason, of course, always wins over Jean, and though she is tempted, she does not quite know how to argue for a new start, even with herself. Instead, she finds reprieve in their current case, glad to have a reason to linger for longer than she had planned. This certainly isn’t a trip to the Big Apple, but it offers more days in the easy routine she and Millie have fallen into, even if it comes at the cost of another woman’s life.

 

She would like to forget the matter of Millie finding some other place to settle, here in San Francisco, but it’s not as easily brushed aside as Jean would wish. It comes up again at random times, Millie waving a paper around in frustration. It’s all too expensive - or else unsuitable for a single woman of Millie’s age. And she drops the option of finding something together, of sharing a place lightly into the conversation. 

 

Each time, Jean feels the tug getting stronger. Perhaps it’s the warmth of the California sun chasing away the familiar London chill, or the way the jazz they enjoy in the evenings begins to find its way into her blood, making her feel looser somehow, more ready to shake off the pain and restrictions of her life at home. 

 

The case still takes up most of their attention, though its conclusion is inevitably edging closer - and with it, the question of whether to stay or go will gain in urgency again. 

 

Jean doesn’t witness the meeting between Millie and Edward at the bar, but Millie tells her later, a distraught shake in her voice. “I don’t know what he’s so afraid of,” she tells Jean, flicking on her lighter and inhaling the cigarette smoke with urgency. “He thinks I’ve been sent here to spy on him.” The laugh that follows is full of regret, and Jean only gets up to find two glasses, brings them back and fills them generously. Jean has a feeling that Millie knows well enough what her cousin is afraid of, and why exactly it seems so ridiculous to her that she would ever tell, but it isn’t something either of them is comfortable enough to voice.

 

Perhaps if they had shared their stories sooner, opened up about their lives beyond Bletchley, and beyond the murders they have solved, there would be an easier way in. But Jean is not one to offer more comfort than her presence and a drink, and when they part for bed, all that is unspoken rests heavy in her chest. 

 

Despite the buzz of whisky weighing down her limbs comfortably, Jean lies awake for hours afterwards, thinking far too much about Camilla Harcourt’s secrets - and her own.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little more meandering, apologies for the aimlessness I'll see myself out again now.

Jean packs her things with a heavy heart, and finds it so much harder to accept her leaving now that Millie's staying _here_. She's glad, of course, that Edward had a change of mind, that he is gracious enough, at least, to let his cousin have the flat, but it's an odd sensation to think of the space they have been sharing as Millie's alone. She has admired - and told Edward as much - what Millie has done with the place, transformed it with a handful of assured decisions from a rubbish heap into a comfortable living space. Comfortable enough for Jean to grow fond of the rooms, to think of it as home.

 

How little time it's taken, she considers as she stops, taking yet another pause from folding blouses to look outside the window at the twilit street. Could it be that she already feels much fonder of their San Francisco address than what waits for her in London?

 

If that truly is the case, it must be Millie's fault alone, for Jean has never felt the draw of pretty furniture and attractive clutter. Her own style is dictated by usefulness and nothing more: Jean needs no frills and frivolities to fill her life, which is to say that she is fine without another person there to share her days and nights as well. Camilla Harcourt would certainly count for frills and frivolities, but Jean has found in her a remarkably pleasant housemate; has enjoyed that Millie breathes air into each room she enters, has grown to even like her collection of eccentricities. Somehow, she doesn’t mind that it’s always she who does the cooking (and most of the cleaning up) while Millie is primarily taking care of the bar, keeping it stocked and mixing drinks. She doesn’t mind the way they’ve split up tasks, even if they’re unequal, and it might just be that she _enjoys_ looking after her friend, being paid in good company, and excellent cocktails every night.

 

A huff on her lips, Jean pushes aside her heavy suitcase, deciding once more that packing can wait. It can wait because she doesn’t want to go, and she should have said so when she had the chance before, rather than insist that she does. That there is anything of worth that she is going back to.

 

. . .

 

Perhaps what it takes is another gun in her face.

 

Jean doesn’t think when she steps forward to protect the others, prepared to deal with the consequences herself. There are arguments for it, reasons that are surely there, in her unconscious, but they don’t rise to the surface until she contemplates the situation later on. She may have nothing to lose, neither here nor in her London life, but that hardly means she wants to let it all go so easily.

 

The others behind her, Jean hears the tremor in Millie’s voice as they try to convince James to hand over the gun. It’s Millie who steps forward, keeping close to her, their shoulders brushing; it’s Millie who takes the gun at last, handling it carefully in her gloved hands; it’s Millie who hooks her arm with Jean’s as they make their way back to the cars together.

 

In close proximity to yet another gun, the long-healed wound in her leg has begun to ache again, and Jean holds on more tightly to Millie’s arm, leaning into her friend for support, and feeling the comforting warmth radiate through woolen sleeves.

 

The situation in the forest unravels as quickly as it’s come together, and Jean finds a welcome distraction in Hailey’s eager chatter on their way back into town. Hailey’s tales of San Francisco are laced with fondness for the place, and Jean smiles a private smile as she looks out the window at the city passing by. She lets herself get carried away by the girl’s enthusiasm, lets it wash over her like the waves of the Pacific ocean, clearing her body of some of the day’s tensions at least; she is surprised at Hailey’s thoughtfulness, at the private grove she leads them to. It’s a beautiful evening, and the food comes as yet another surprise. Sated and content, Jean wants to blame the magical atmosphere of the hour - the salty air and the strange sense of being home, half transported back to the Scotland of her childhood, half finally arrived - for her sudden decision to join Hailey in the cool, clear water, but in truth it’s far more than that: dipping into the ocean in her underwear, Jean knows that she will not leave her friends - newly found as well as old - and that she’ll stay in America.

 

. . .

 

Everything that happens the next day solidifies Jean’s decision: here, she feels useful, even needed to a degree; in any case, the four of them have become a team, and quite a productive one at that. Seeing Lydia out on a ledge, telling Jean about her empty life makes Jean herself realize that she does have things to lose: Millie, and Iris, and Hailey, and the sense of purpose she feels when they solve unsolvable riddles together. The rush of relief she feels when Lydia accepts her hand and steps down from the precipice reminds Jean that it’s good to be alive - but that it’s quite another matter to _feel_ alive as well.

 

There is no question, then, that she will stay.

 

With Millie out of earshot, Jean makes all the necessary calls, cancelling her reservation and giving up her job. There’s still the flat left in London, with all her things, her clothes inside, but that’s a matter for another day. She hangs up the phone and feels so much lighter as she sets about unpacking, smile never quite leaving the corners of her lips.

 

When she tells Millie of her choice at last, the tears in her friends eyes make her feel lighter still, dizzy with the rare display of such pure emotion. “Baptized and reborn,” Jean tells her, the sea still rushing in her ears.

 

She squeezes Millie’s arm in lieu of the hug she wants to offer, and makes her way downstairs, walking straight up to the bar and pouring two generous drinks. It isn’t long till Millie comes to join her taking the glass with a grateful grin. They fall quickly into their routine of discussing the day’s events, and the previous night’s date with the detective. Millie tells her of the drinks and the dancing, of Archie’s dismay - and of her own, when a practical stranger guessed more parts of her life’s story than she would like him to know. It makes Jean’s eyebrows twitch with curiosity, makes her want to know more, dig into the secrets her friend has been hiding. They’ve always skirted around this part of the conversation, but, Jean decides, things have changed in the last few days, shifted to make her feel the pinpricks of irritation at the thought of Detective Bill Bryce knowing more about her friend of many years than she does herself - even if that isn’t necessarily the truth.

 

Finishing her drink, Jean clears her throat, leans forward and stays there, even after she’s set down her glass on the table, looking at Millie with new interest. “Now that we’ll be living together officially,” she begins, lips twitching at the thought - and the implication of more shared domesticity ahead - “will you make me guess as well, or are you going to tell me that story of yours freely, Camilla Harcourt?”


End file.
